


Birthday blooms

by Wrathofscribbles



Series: No.  No.  And no. [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: F/M, Pre-Relationship, lunyx
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 15:49:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16726329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrathofscribbles/pseuds/Wrathofscribbles
Summary: A simple gift.Not so simple to get hold of.And it means the world.





	Birthday blooms

**Author's Note:**

> **Big bold reminder that Final Fantasy XV and all of its content is property of Square Enix.** I just like to play in the sandpit they've created for the fans.

Luna notices the shift of his weight from foot to foot, registers that this is typically a sign of nerves or unease, and the curve of his mouth isn’t his usual smirk but something... softer, maybe even a touch _shy_  when coupled with the darting of his eyes on every interesting thing except her own face.

But Nyx doesn’t hold her attention for long - how can he, when there is a solitary flower held in the cradle of his hands?  The stem dangles beneath, neglected in this moment and robbed of soil, but the petals... those gorgeous petals she hasn’t seen in years are more blue than she remembers, more _precious_  than the crystal shards they resemble, cresting over scarred palms and fingers to wave in the evening breeze as if to say _hello_.

“This is - how did you - ?”  She dares reach out, she dares to _touch_ , and suddenly can’t see for the sting in her eyes as they mist over, as she clenches her jaw to restrain its tremble when the flower doesn’t turn to dust as they do in her dreams, wanting to take the sylleblossom from him and hug it fiercely to her chest, an old friend she has sorely missed all this time.  And still the Oracle watches her with those calm, kind eyes of his, the ice of them thawed and warm, none of his usual swagger or anger to be seen, no stress lining his mouth or brow.   _“How?”_ she says and knows it comes out like a plea, so strangled and broken she might as well be on her knees and begging the answer from him.

Nyx shifts his grip, slowly and carefully as if he’s handling the most fragile glass, until the stem is caught between thumb and forefinger and the sylleblossom bows under its own weight, swaying towards her in silent offering.  To take or to sniff she doesn’t know, but she’s powerless against the lure and pinches her fingers above his, drowns in its subtle perfume when he relinquishes its care to her.  He straightens up and rolls his shoulders once he’s free of the burden, tucks those whip-quick hands of his into one of the many, many pockets gracing his attire, and there is the grin he’s known for.  All teeth and masked intent - but what ulterior motive could he possibly have in introducing her to one of the flowers thought to have perished alongside her home, never to be seen again under the destruction following Niflheim like a plague?

“A _little bird_  told me a few days ago that it’s your birthday today, and that you used to tend one of the prettiest gardens in all of Tenebrae by day and sleep in a field of blooms by night.  I thought a reunion would be a nice present.”

“But _how?_   They all burned when - you were _there_ , Nyx, you saw it.  We lost you in that chaos, I don’t... I don’t understand, how is this possible?”

“How is _anything_  possible around here, Princess?  Magic.”

“But -”

“Let a man keep _some_  secrets, shh,” he says with a laugh, but she catches the glance he affords the second shadow always following him, the glimmer of bright amber in the coeurl’s eyes, and wonders just what _kind_  of magic he’s joking about.  “Happy birthday, Luna.  I’m sorry for almost missing it.”

“... For this... for _this_ , I forgive you.”

“Oh good!  Dunno about you, but I’d hate to be on the receiving end of your right hook.”

* * *

There are more in her study.  So _many_  more.  All in pots _she painted herself_ in her mother’s studio, so many years and nightmares ago.


End file.
